Naked Santa and Fornicating Reindeer
by darnedchild
Summary: Molly and John share a love of festive Christmas jumpers. Sherlock . . . doesn't.


**strangelock221b** suggested having a Fandom Christmas in July thingy, and I thought "Heck yeah, I want to do a thing for that." And then she put out a list of potential prompts and I thought "Double heck yeah!" So here is a little ficlet that sort of used prompt #22 – Santa's naughty list and #25 – Exchanging gifts (if you squint really hard and are feeling extra generous).

Based on a Tumblr post full of Molly Hooper's Christmas sweater collection. Thanks to **mizjoely** and **onceinabluemoon13** for the inspiration.

 **Naked Santa and Fornicating Reindeer**

Molly pushed herself away from the table and stretched, her lab coat parting as her arms pushed up toward the ceiling to reveal the festive jumper she wore underneath.

The over-sized burgundy and grey colour-blocked jumper adorned with a smattering of snowflakes and one grinning snowman.

A jumper that had, just ten minutes ago when Sherlock had ducked into the hall to answer a phone call from Lestrade, been worn by John Watson.

Hadn't it?

Sherlock spun around to find John carefully arranging crime scene photos on another table, still wearing a burgundy and grey colour-blocked jumper. Only that one had two frolicking reindeer across the front.

Obviously, he'd been mistaken. Sherlock frowned. He didn't like it when he made mistakes.

இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—

Three days later, he and John met Mycroft at the Diogenes Club. John wore a hideously bright green and red striped jumper with a grinning St. Nick holding a Naughty or Nice list appliqued to the front. Personally, Sherlock found it an eye sore and would have insisted John burn it in the fireplace if it weren't for Mycroft's look of disgust.

After telling Mycroft they were most definitely not going to be helping with whatever mystery he'd been trying to pass along, Sherlock had insisted on visiting Barts to start analysing the fibers Mycroft's men had managed to collect (because the case was easily an eight and there was no way he was going to turn it down, no matter what he'd told Mycroft).

He hadn't even looked up when Molly joined them, intent on identifying the odd substance on one swatch. Not, that was, until he'd caught a flash of green and red out of the corner of his eye. He'd jerked upright, realized John wasn't in the room, and that Molly was the person standing so close to him.

"What can I do to help?" she asked eagerly. Even as his mind noted it must have been a slow day in the morgue, his eyes dropped to the grinning Santa stretched across her chest.

"That's John's. Why are you wearing John's jumper?"

"What?" Molly glanced down. "This is mine. I made it myself." She beamed proudly as she pointed to the horrible Santa and his list. "See. I thought it would be funny to put everybody's names on it."

Sure enough, the list was covered with familiar names with Naughty or Nice beside them.

Nearly everyone was Nice. Everyone but John, himself, and . . .

"You've got yourself down as naughty." His eyes darted back up to hers as he realized he'd been spending far too long staring at the general vicinity of her breasts.

Molly laughed. "Wishful thinking, I suppose. Who knows what might happen after Christmas drinkies, right?"

"I've come back at just the right time, haven't I?" John set a pair of coffee cups on the table, well away from Sherlock's workspace. "Are we talking about Christmas cocktails already? Who's hosting this year?"

Sherlock blinked at the sight of Molly and John standing next to each other. In their nearly identical jumpers. It was a different St Nick with a different list. John's was clearly store bought while Molly's had all the signs of being hand-knitted, but the colours were the same.

"Did you two plan this?"

They looked at each other's jumpers and Molly giggled. "Could you imagine? Wouldn't that be ridiculous? I didn't even think anyone else would own something like this, much less find one sold in a store." She looked down at hers. "His is much nicer looking. I still haven't quite figured out how to keep my stitches even and uniform."

John patted her shoulder. "Nonsense. Look at your list. That's a nice touch. Don't you think, Sherlock?" He jerked his head toward Molly, eyes wide to silently communicate something.

Oh, right.

"Yes. It's . . . lovely. Unique. Very you, Molly."

She beamed. "Do you think so?"

It wasn't until much later, after he and John had cornered Mycroft's suspect and were waiting for a car back to Baker Street, that Sherlock realized Molly hadn't actually answered his question.

இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—

Four days before Christmas, after nearly two weeks of John and Molly's progressively uglier and more festive jumpers—Sherlock was positive they must have been trying to outdo each other, who would have even thought there were that many hideous Christmas themed garments out there—it happened again.

Molly had been sitting on his sofa, with Mrs Hudson at her side, discussing their plans for small Christmas gathering. (Gifts or would that be too much? Sit down meal or just drinks and snacks? Definitely a tree. Who wants to ask Sherlock if he'll play for us?) One second she'd been wearing a plain button-down blouse and the next she was pulling a navy blue jumper with a snow covered tree and a drunken elf over her head. She hadn't even finished pulling her ponytail out of the neck before he was at her side.

"That is John's."

Molly shook her head. "Pretty sure I'm the one wearing it."

"Look at it." He reached behind her neck and tilted her head forward so he could find the tag. "It's two, no three, sizes too big for you."

Molly batted his hands away and looked toward Mrs Hudson as if to ask if the other woman had any idea what Sherlock was going on about. "I like my jumpers to be loose, you know that."

Mrs Hudson hmm'd. "It does look a bit familiar. I'm almost positive I've seen John in something like it." Before Sherlock could do more than flash a triumphant smirk, she continued. "But elves are very popular this year. Even ones with their bare bum out for the world to see, I would imagine."

He blinked and leaned down to look closer. Sure enough, the mischievous elf under the tree had its bare arse hanging out. "It's mooning us." He looked up at Molly to see her blushing.

"I thought it was cute. Look at those little pink cheeks and that sneaky grin."

இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—

Christmas Eve arrived.

Sherlock refused to let himself fidget as the guests Mrs Hudson had invited slowly arrived. There was no reason to be anxious.

This wasn't going to be like that other Christmas.

He'd make sure of it.

Rosie watched the tree lights twinkle, her eyes wide in wonder. John passed out drinks, in yet another holiday jumper.

A pair of discretely fornicating reindeer this time.

Sherlock had tutted and sent a pointed look toward John's impressionable young daughter.

"She barely a year and a half old, Sherlock. She thinks they're playing. Trust me, she saw worse this summer when Mr Fletcher's Corgi got out and had a torrid tryst with the Simons' Retriever in our garden."

Rosie piped up with a clap of her hands and a happy, "Puppies!"

Molly showed up not long after, but kept her coat on until John took Rosie up to her cot in the spare room nearly thirty minutes later.

It became obvious why as soon as she shrugged it off and exposed the ugliest jumper yet. Bright red with a naked St Nick spread out on a bear skin rug in front of a fire and only a wrapped gift to protect his modesty. There would have been no explaining that away to Rosie.

Lestrade choked on his Scotch at the sight.

"Isn't it great?" Molly beamed with pride. "I found it at a second-hand shop for next to nothing!"

"I can understand why," Mrs Hudson tutted.

Lestrade's girlfriend—the brunette forensic officer—laughed. "It's hideous. I love it. Did they have another one?"

John came back down, baby monitor in hand, and the holiday gathering began in earnest.

Hopkins asked about Sherlock's martial arts training, which somehow lead to him allowing her to see the Judo certificate hanging over his bed.

When they came back out, he stopped dead in his tracks.

John was wearing the naked Santa jumper and Molly had a pair of randy reindeer on hers.

They caught sight of his expression and immediately started laughing. John even pointed with one hand as he clutched his belly with the other. "Oh my God, your face."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and glared at Molly, who kept trying (and failing) to contain her giggles.

"You two have been plotting all month."

"No." She shook her head, and then wobbled it side to side. "Well, not the first week. You told John his jumper should have been wrapped around a rock and tossed in the Thames, and then told me I should have let Toby shred mine less than a day later. That's when we started plotting."

"You have no idea how hard it was to try to find all those similar jumpers," John added. "The Naughty/Nice one was a real pain. Luckily Molly had an extra Santa we were able to sew onto the one I found. Had to cover a picture of festive cats with it."

Molly's giggles began to die as Sherlock's hands clenched at his sides. "You have to admit, it was funny. Kind of. Oh, come on, Sherlock!" she called after him as he turned and stalked down the hall toward his room.

"Well, I thought it was funny," Dimmock offered to the otherwise quiet room.

Less than a minute later, Sherlock stormed back out to the sitting room with a wad of dark material in his hands. He thrust it at Molly. "You want to switch it up, wear someone else's clothes? Take that ridiculous thing off and put this on."

Molly took the garment and carefully unfolded it before holding the soft black cashmere jumper up to her chest. It dwarfed her small frame and smelled faintly of Sherlock's cologne. "Sherlock?"

He realized everyone else in the flat was watching them, but he didn't care. "I don't-I don't want you wearing another man's . . . Please. Just put it on."

She opened her mouth as if to say something, then shut it and nodded. She slipped past him toward the bathroom to change, leaving Sherlock alone with the others.

John pulled the naked Santa jumper over his head, revealing the button-down beneath it. "Took you long enough."

"What?" Sherlock tried to pretend he had no idea what his friend was talking about.

Lestrade put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and leaned close enough the others wouldn't overhear. "You only get so many second chances, mate. Don't screw this one up." Lestrade's fingers tightened, just enough to feel reassuring. "I've got faith in you."

The bathroom door opened and he turned to watch Molly rejoin them.

He swallowed hard and held out his hand. "Come sit next to the tree. I was just about to get out the violin."

Molly took it, her lips curling into a shy smile.

She looked good in his jumper.

Beautiful.

He wondered how pretty she'd look in one of his dress shirts.


End file.
